


Everything is Cherries on Top

by ViolentlyRed



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Again, Depressing Thoughts, Drunk Keith (Voltron), Keith drunk cries again, Keith hates himself again, Keith is just tryna figure shit out a lil bit, Klance tho, Lance (Voltron) is a Good Friend, Lance is a good right hand, Lance is kind and understanding, Lance is party mom, alright enough tags, and drunk, but he hates himself coz he's fuckin wasted, keith is sad, klance, lance is a good friend, lmao whats new, or not if you don't want it, platonic friendship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-16
Updated: 2018-05-16
Packaged: 2019-05-07 15:59:28
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,530
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14674508
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ViolentlyRed/pseuds/ViolentlyRed
Summary: "He hates these stupid parties, they're useless and boring and sad and difficult and social and the last place Keith ever wants to be. Lance sits next to him and pats his knee. Keith's drunk and sad, Lance is sober and happy."Or, Keith is drunk. Again. And he's not having a good time. Again. And Lance is there. Again.Another drunk, sadboi Keith did with Good buddy bud Lance.





	Everything is Cherries on Top

 

"I'm sorry I'm a bad leader," Keith pants. Hands on his knees, he spits bitterly onto the soil below.

Lance sighs from where he leans up against wall of the building. "You're not a bad leader."

Keith spits again and stares at his vomit that seeps into the soft dirt ground in front of him. Lance's hand on his shoulder tightens. "Keith."

Keith stands up, slightly annoyed. Too fast, his head spins. "What, Lance."

Lance looks at him so hard that it makes Keith's teeth hurt. "You're not a bad leader." It's said so earnestly and Keith feels like a fucking failure. Tears spring to his eyes. Keith nods. He turns and thrhes up again.

"Alright, settle down," Lance says kindly. "Get it all up." And honestly, how dare he? Why the fuck is he being nice right now? Why does he have to be so nice? Keith isn't a good leader, Keith shouldn't be here, Keith just got shit-faced and ran away when he was supposed to be greeting the members of a new alliance. Keith is a failure.

He's a fucking spout of nastiness, sour bile and Nunvil no better on the way up than it was in the way down. He glares into the soiled ground with watering eyes and throbbing temples and lets a sob bubble up from his chest.

"Keith?"

"Shut the fuck up," he says, but it's warbled and sad. He dry-heaves, spits and watches his tears drip through the night air. It's all quite undignified.

Lance kind-of rubs his back. The music from inside the party is loud and near. Lance is soothing and calm. "Okay buddy, let's go over here."

Keith finds himself guided to a place further along the brick wall of the building. His trembling legs take him to a different place, the music gets quieter, and he guesses that's alright. He tries not to trip over his feet. Lance is holding his arm.

He sinks down, back to the wall. There are more and more tears sliding down his cheeks, and he hates himself so much right now. He's fuckin' wasted, Allura's gonna kick his ass if she finds out.

He hates these stupid parties, they're useless and boring and sad and difficult and social and the last place Keith ever wants to be.

Lance sits next to him and pats his knee. Keith's drunk and sad, Lance is sober and happy.

Keith lets his head fall back against the wall and stares at the stars. They remind him of Lance's pores, and that's not weird, you can fuckin' suck his dick. He doesn't like Lance, alright? Fucking. He hates him. Okay?

They're beautiful, it's a beautiful sky, and his head spins and he's sad and tired. He's so tired. Of everything.

Lance taps his forearm, three steady beats with the tips of his fingers but almost like an afterthought. "You okay?"

Keith squeezes his eyes shut and more tears fall down his face. He presses his lips together and shakes his head, giving in, fuck tonight. He's weak.

Lance keeps a hand on his forearm and tells him it will be alright. Keith wishes so badly he could believe him.

He opens his eyes and there are ominous pink boots in front of his face.

"What's going on?" Allura asks, commanding and slightly accusatory.

Keith's head throbs and his stomach sinks. Shit. He's fucking in for it.

Lance immediately speaks up. "Keith wasn't looking too hot, so I thought we would get some fresh air," he explains patiently. Which. Actually, it's mostly true. They made eye contact across the room and Lance came over and asked if he wanted to go outside. And Keith nodded and held in his vomit until they were out in the open. But Allura doesn't need to know that.

Allura crouches down in front of Keith and gently places her palm on the side of his face. Keith tries to keep it still. "He does feel a bit warm," she muses, "perhaps you would like to go to the castle?"

"No, it's alright," Lance says before Keith can open his mouth. "No use in staying cooped up when we're there ninety-five percent of the time anyway."

Allura purses her lips. "Alright, well, stay out of trouble, you two."

"We will," Keith contributes, and hopefully he sounds fucking normal. He sure doesn't feel it.

Lance waits until she's out of earshot and let's out a breath. "Whew! Crisis adverted."

Keith stares at his lap, at his swimming fingers. "Thank you," he says. Because Lance could have totally blew it right there and told Allura the truth, but he didn't. Keith isn't really sure why. "That was really... uhh, cool of you," Keith mumbles.

Lance pats his arm again. "Anytime, Mullet. You kept it together pretty well for someone who just drank a half-gallon of alien liquor."

Keith knots a hand in his hair. Thank god Allura didn't see him crying. He's so stupid. He hates himself so much, he wants to fucking off himself. He wishes he were anywhere but here. The fun of being drunk is gone, and now reality is coming back and everything is depressing and bitter again. He wishes that he could be like Lance - be friends with people, confident, cocky, self-assured. Have a fucking family-

_Alright_. No need to open that can of worms right now. Keith shivers. He's fucking cold. It has to be midnight or so.

"Keith, do you really think you're a bad leader?" Lance's voice is smooth and holds weight. Keith is too drunk to realize what kind.

What's the point of answering untruthfully? "Yeah."

"Why?" And it's so innocuous, so innocent that Keith almost forgets his intense hatred for the guy sitting beside him. He rests his arm on his knee and his forehead on his arm. Lance's hand is still warm on his other arm.

"I don't fucking know, Lance, I'm just not a good one," Keith murmurs. "I make bad decisions and I try to out-drink  tough aliens at parties and I get drunk and I make bad decisions."

"That's not true," Lance interjects. "Well, alright, the party one is. But you make good decisions. They're impulsive, but you would never intentionally hurt the team."

Keith sits up, eyes closed. "Yeah, I guess."

They sit in silence for a moment. The night life buzzes and hums, the party is a distant thrum. Keith isn't sure if he's still crying or not. Probably.

"It's just - everything sucks, a lot right now. Everything sucks," Keith says honestly to the foreign night air. His head throbs.

Lance nods. "Yeah. I'm sorry."

"It's not you," Keith says. What the fuck, honestly? How dare he think it's him? Lance has been nothing but wonderful - oh my God he must still be really drunk. But, really. "It's not you. It's everything else."

Lance settles back against the wall. "Well, I'm glad that I get to be a thing that doesn't suck in your life," he says, and what the fuck? Who fucking even says- Jesus, why is Lance being so nice? Why is Lance so good?

This somehow makes Keith sniffle some more. My god, he's a fucking mess. Lance frowns at him. "Hey, Keith, it's gonna be okay, buddy."

Keith wipes his eyes with his palms, grinds them into his eye sockets. "I know. I- fuck."

Lance chuckles. "You're alright."

Keith is so tired. He can feel his eyes slipping shut forever. He can't even open them. Him and Lance must sit in silence for a while, because Lance moves closer and presses against Keith's arm. Keith doesn't mind it.

Eventually Keith's head falls down enough to rest on Lance's shoulder. Fuck, he's drunk, alright? He still hates Lance.

Seriously. He does.

  
\---

  
He wakes up the next day in his bed, boots off and covers tucked around him. A water pouch and two painkillers sit in the little indented shelf in his wall. Everything comes back to him in an instant. God, Lance.

Lance is outside his door. He stands in his robe and slippers with a bowl of food goo in his hands. "Hey, I was just gonna see if you were up yet."

Keith swallows. "Yeah, I'm on my way to shower," he says awkwardly, trying to blink the pain away that blossoms behind his eyes. He hates himself, he hates himself, he really really hates himself for even allowing last night to happen.

Lance studies him. "How are you feelin'?"

"Absolutely horrible," Keith answers truthfully.

Lance chuckles. "Yeah, you better shower. Drink water, too." He starts to walk away but Keith reaches out and grabs his forearm to stop him.

_Wait, didn't last night, Lance and his forearm_ \- alright alright. Lance blinks back at him in surprise.

"Wait - sorry," Keith fumbles, "I just. I wanted to say thank you. For last night. And I'm sorry."

Lance smiles genuinely. "Anytime, Mullet. Don't apologize." Lance pats his shoulder. "I'm here for you." And so Lance just drops that fucking bomb and retreats into his room, spoon in mouth, like it's nothing.

Keith stands in the hallway for a moment after that.

Ugh. He needs a shower.

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Title from a song called (Fuck A) Silver Lining by Panic! At The Disco, it's my jam.
> 
> Thanks for reading, buds. Love me some Keefy keef and some nicey boyo Lance. Sweetest boys. Let me know what you think and all of your secret Klancey or non-romantic Klance feels! I'm a slut for this kinda stuff!


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